"Producers, cinematographers, sound people, production designers..those people can go to film school if they want to and they can afford it! But for a director? For a writer? They should turn them away at the door, refund their tuition, and tell them to take a road trip."
"Ha."
"I'm serious. Film school is of absolutely no use to a writer or a director. Only life can teach you those things—only living life and observing it. Yours and others. That's the only way you'll ever have anything to say!"
Kristi pours me another whiskey and we look out my windows at LA and she says:
"I heard the head of the Los Angeles Film School say, If you watch enough movies you don't have to go to film school."
"I didn't know you went to LAFS!"
"I didn't. I was working there as a receptionist and after work was over I would sneak down into the theater and listen to the night classes."
"Kristi, you amaze me. I will be sad to lose you."
"Lose me?"
"You're not going to be my assistant forever."
"Well, currently I don't have another job, so."
"So?"
"So I have to pay my rent."
"Don't worry about your rent. I'm serious. Reorder your thoughts. Think about the highest, most beautiful thing you can and keep that in your mind at every moment."
"Ok."
She sips her whiskey.
"Promise me?"
"Yes."
"Say, I promise you."
"I promise you."
"What?"
"That I will keep the highest most beautiful thing in mind at all times."
Kristi shoots her rocks glass of Evan Williams and winces.
"At all times," I say.
"At all times."
"I have a certain love for you, Kristi."
"I know," she says, wiping her mouth.
"Does it bother you?"
"No."
"Well it isn't sexual if that scares you—"
"What do you think he meant?" Kristi says.
"Who?"
"Joe Byron."
"Who is Joe Byron?" I ask.
"He's the head of the Los Angeles Film School."
"Oh, right. If you watch enough movies you don't have to go to film school. Is that actually what he said?"
"Yeah."
"That's pretty progressive, don't you think—for the head of a film school to tell you, once you've paid your zillion-dollar tuition and you're captive in his auditorium, that you never had to come here if you just watched enough films?"
"Hahaha."
"Yeah, that's pretty fucked up of Joe Byron. Must be kind of a subversive guy," I say.
"I don't know. I want to know what you think about his comment."
Kristi sits on my bed, cross-legged, in her underwear, pouring another neat Evan Williams in one of my thrift shop rocks glasses.
I turn to her.
"I don't know why you think I have the corner on everything, just because I spout my mouth off at roughly the speed my brain runs, but if you really give a shit what a middle-aged woman thinks of that gem of a statement by the head of a film school—"
"You're not middle aged," Kristi says.
"I'm 40 years old. Based on life expectancy that's middle aged."
"Ok fuck I'm not gonna argue with you."
She tops off her rocks glass—so full she can hardly pick it up.
"Are you mad?" I say.
"No."
"Thank you for the compliment. And yes, I suppose in the common sense of the words I'm not middle aged so points to you on that one. Watching a lot of films will teach you everything technical you need to know about making a film, yes—so in that sense if you watch enough films you don't need to go to film school. I mean most of the things you learn are trial and error, wouldn't you agree?"
"How so?"
"Well take a lighting person for example. If they place the light here, and the shot doesn't look right, then everyone gets together and they place the light there. Eventually the light gets put in the right place and next time you get to perfect a little quicker from everything you've learned in the past. So if you've seen enough films to know what looks good, then figuring out where to put the lights is easy. Ditto everything else technical about a film.
"Editing? Editing is an emotional exercise. The software is nothing—anyone can use it. But to be a good editor, you have to be able to look at a cut and feel what that cut makes you feel, so that you can make cuts that make the audience feel what the director wants the audience to feel.
"A production designer is more like a painter. A costume person—fuck, if you think I know shit about clothes..you see how I dress! I don't know shit about costume designers I just hire 'em and tell 'em to do their thing. But—fuck—can you hand me a cigarette? I'm out. Thanks. But where Joe Byron's statement falls apart is that it's incestual."
Kristi shakes her head.
"Incestuous? Am I using the wrong word?"
"I have no idea."